Bus Stations!

It's been three years since Latin America was my everyday. Slipping back into those sandals should be easy, ya? Wrong. Bus stations = complete chaos:

"Hey! Im on the 5:30pm bus to Santa Cruz. Where does that leave from?"
"Ok, Its that bus there, Trans Copacabana in Gate 3."
"Thanks!"

I get on the bus, put my stuff in my seat, check in my bag. An attendant shouts, "Hey, wrong bus!"
"What? It says Santa Cruz and Trans Copacabana."
"Yeah but this is Trans Copacabana 1 Em and you want Trans Copacabana S.A."
"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Five minutes later, a Swiss kid and I are chatting and the exact same thing happens to her. I point this out and she gives me a seriously suspicious look. Im like yeah, you want Trans Copacabana 1 Em. This is Trans Copacabana S.A. Trust me.

Informal information distribution a success. High five!

It's 5:25pm. Im staring at gate 3 like a possessed person, willing the bus to arrive. I check with the ticket company. "Is my bus here?"
"Yeah. Its at gate 5."
"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Forgot how deep the informality runs.

16 hours later we arrive in Santa Cruz. Easily the longest bus ride of my life, punctuated by the same cell phone ringing every 20 minutes, the driver changing the movie three times, passing like this was Nascar and in a vain attempt to sleep I take half an Ambien which turns out to be half a Prednisone. Slick, Demetrius, way to give yourself headaches for 2 days. Sigh.

Wouldn't be anywhere else but here right now.